


Waiting

by mk_tortie



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_tortie/pseuds/mk_tortie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Marilla wanted more from life than forever living with her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

The breakfast table was laid, as always, with Marilla's second best table-cloth (the first, of course, only brought out at births, marriages, deaths or visits from the vicar), and the smell of fresh coffee was wafting through the open door. Matthew sat down, pulled a slice of fresh bread towards him and concentrated on scraping marmelade across it in slow, measured strokes. He could see his sister at the stove, blue and white striped dress swinging. Everything was exactly the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before that, and every day before that since as long as he could remember. Everything exactly the same, and as Marilla set two hardboiled brown eggs on the blue china plate in front of him, a flicker of a thought crossed his mind that that should not be so. In all those years, something should have changed. He frowned, and tapped the egg in front of him sharply. Marilla looked up at him enquiringly from her own breakfast. Matthew grunted; a noise which could put over a surprising number of emotions, and Marilla had to be well-versed in translating them by now. This particular version obviously reassured his sister that he was satisfied with the breakfast she had provided, as she returned to her own silent contemplations.

Peeling his egg with work-roughened fingers, Matthew's thoughts wandered to other things - the new hen-house door, whether the potatoes had been planted in time, if the cow would escape into the garden again - and it wasn't until Marilla had taken his empty plate and he had pulled on his boots to start work that the feeling of not-right-ness returned. But what? He had his work, he had a warm bed at night, and a woman who he lived companionably with, and who fulfilled any need he could think of. Matthew was not one of those who secretly passed around the cards with pictures of girls of the type never to be found in Avonlea, (or even on the island) but those men were constantly unsatisfied, seeking something new. Matthew had never felt the need to - why would he, when everything he needed was here? Or was it? 'Naughty pictures' still held no appeal.

The hen-house door swung out of his grip as the realisation struck him. Of course, in all those years of births, marriages and deaths in Avonlea, something was missing. Perhaps that explained the questions he had passed off as curiosity (or just plain nosiness) after church - 'Everything going well with Marilla? Have you both met that nice young man from the mainland yet?' Ordinary questions in themselves, but more often than not the asking was accompanied by a wink or a nudge, and Matthew had always answered with a bemused 'yes'.  

Was there something she had yet to tell him, that was in plain sight for everyone else they knew? Matthew sat down on a stump and stared at his hands. Well, he was not one to jump to hasty conclusions, and if she wasn't ready to tell him, she wasn't ready. The Lord would provide to those who waited.

~

Marilla's busy hands chopped carrots at speed for the stew, but every now and then she paused. If there had been anyone in the same room, they would have heard her sigh - but then, had there been anyone there, she wouldn't have been so open. There were far to many gossips in Avonlea to display emotions lightly, she often reflected. This evening, however, she was contemplating something much different, her hand brushing across the front of her dress wistfully. The busybodies in church would be hoping again this Sunday, she knew, and once again she was disappointed. Those 'nice young men from the mainland' never stayed long, and never looked twice.  For a few minutes, she allowed herself to imagine - and hoped too that Matthew wouldn't notice her expression at the dinner table, picturing the lateness of her monthly, and her own private joy at the idea.  Of course, it was impossible. And Matthew, of course, seemed troubled with no such wishes. He never mentioned their lack of any chance of continuing the Cuthbert family into another generation, but she was sure he must have begun to wonder, particularly when some of the island's clans had such depressingly large families. 

Or perhaps not. Sometimes Marilla was unsure just what Matthew thought and didn't think, but of course she would never ask him. That was his business, and if he chose to tell her, he would do so.

Sweeping the carrots into an iron saucepan, Marilla hauled some potatoes over to the sink and began to scrub them roughly. It was a few minutes before she realised she was biting her lip and squeezing her eyes against the hollow feeling in her stomach. What on earth was wrong with her? It wasn't the first time she had pictured the pitter-patter of small feet, and she was certain it wouldn't be the last. She wasn't the first woman to have to resign herself to a life of fervent prayer against envy.

~

That evening, as they sat across from one another, steaming plates of stew on the second-best tablecloth in front of them, Matthew caught Marilla's eye. She might not always tell him what she was thinking, but she always put a meal on his plate and kept the house spick and span, and he knew he never wanted that to change. 'I think the potatoes'll be fine,' he said gruffly. His sister's smile was small. 'I really hope so,' she answered, and looked back down at her food, quickly. Matthew nodded, and ate a forkful of carrot. Everything would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a much-edited version of a fic posted for Yuletide 2007.


End file.
